


Eggsy's Cantabile

by kissingandcrying



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Inspired by Music, M/M, Pianist/conductor Harry, pianist Eggsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:57:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissingandcrying/pseuds/kissingandcrying
Summary: Harry stops with his hand on the door and tilts his ear towards the sound. The notes are clean and fluid, wafting down the hallway in occasional jumps and steps that taunt his curiosity. It’s quite rare for Harry to be intrigued by any musical presentation these days, but he follows the notes down the hall, around the corner, trailing them until he’s outside of a quite visibly neglected practice room.





	1. Sonata Pathetique

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InsaneRedDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneRedDragon/gifts).



> I have the worst writer's block. This piece is an effort to keep me writing during that time! I don't want to botch any of my other pieces because I'm unmotivated, but I do want to keep writing. Each update will be less than 1000 words, they'll be every day (with the exception of weekends), and hopefully *fingers crossed* it'll keep me from getting too sluggish. There's no rating yet because i'm not sure what rating it'll have, but I'll certainly adjust it if it turns NSFW. I've also put it out of 10 chapters, but I'm not entirely sure where it'll start/end, so perhaps more/less than that. 
> 
> I owe this one to Insanereddragon. She's been trying to help me through this dang patch of being unmotivated, and so has been giving me countless pointers, and I'm so grateful! She's also been beta-ing this piece and giving me tips to help me improve. Her help is worth the stars.

The first time that Harry meets Eggsy is a bit of a surprise. It’s certainly unconventional.

It’s an accident, as up until their meeting Harry hardly believes his loud and tempestuous neighbour is a music student at the conservatoire, and so he has no intention of ever approaching the boy. He’s absolutely alright with keeping their interactions to muffled sounds between walls, and stilted ‘hello’s and ‘goodbye’s as they pass each other going in and out of their respective flats. He doesn’t ever ask the boy’s name or inquire about what he does when he’s not home, laughing and fucking about with his tiny little dog.

But he supposes it had to happen. It would be strange if he’d never found out his neighbour was quite possibly the best pianist he’s ever heard.

It’s a chilly Monday afternoon and Harry’s had a horrible day. He feels worn out, old, creaky, and he has a headache. His students are underprepared and so _he’s_ underprepared. He spends the day toting around a bag that’s too heavy, reading scores in the dark confines of his office that are chock full of other composer’s notes, surrounded by unfinished cups of tea that Merlin keeps bringing him in a gesture of concern and goodwill.

The end of that Monday finds him irritated and surrounded by mugs.

But he survives it much like any other day, and when it comes time to pack his things, he does it with the serene knowledge that atleast the next ten hours belong to himself. He can go home, pour a large glass of wine, and then do absolutely nothing.

When he leaves his office, the empty halls of the aged and dated conservatoire are as worn as they’ve ever looked. The floors are still scuffed. His feet still echo as he walks. Harry’s thinking that maybe he should reconsider his life as a piano instructor and try harder to become a composer, the same consideration he faces every day but does shit all about. Nothing is really different about this Monday _except_ for Eggsy, because as he’s reaching the door that’ll lead him to the stairwell to heaven he hears the most magnificent thing.

It’s Beethoven. Sonata Pathetique - Adagio Cantabile, a piece he’s experienced countless times over his years as an instructor, and a piece he’s never quite been enchanted by until today.

He stops with his hand on the door and tilts his ear towards the sound. The notes are clean and fluid, wafting down the hallway in occasional jumps and steps that taunt Harry’s curiosity. It’s quite rare for Harry to be intrigued by any musical presentation these days, but he follows the notes down the hall, around the corner, trailing them until he’s outside of a quite visibly neglected practice room.

He’s not sure who he expects to see. He’s not even sure if he sets expectations at all, considering that he’s so lost in the delivery of the piece - ears vibrating with the ease of performance. But at the very least, he knows what he _doesn’t_ expect, and that’s to peer through the crack of the doorway and see _that boy_ , the very same one who mutters obscenities to himself when he can't find his keys, the very same one that lugs his garbage out of his flat with a smile on his face and a tune in his mouth, the very same one who says ‘hallo’ and then disappears behind his door only to wake Harry hours later with raucous and nonsensical laughter, sitting there and playing, poised and unrestrained.

Harry’s chest is tight. He grips his bag more tightly in his fist and tries to conceptualize it. He’s never once heard a live note come from his neighbouring apartment, and with a boy hosting so _much_ talent, it doesn’t make sense.

So that night, when he runs into the boy on the stairwell and hears the standard and uninterested ‘hallo,’ he responds with, “What’s your name?” before there's too much space between them.

The boy stops and looks over his shoulder curiously. He's a bit out of breath and he's already feeling around in his pocket for his keys, but he huffs, “Eggsy”, and then carries on up the stairs without a second mention. It’s dismissive and it goes against every manner of politeness that Harry’s learned to apply over the long course of his life, but at the very least the boy has a name, and as far as acquaintanceship goes, that’s as good a place to start as any.

 

-

 

Eggsy's piece: [Beethoven - Piano Sonata No. 8, Op. 13 "Pathétique" II. Adagio cantabile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FP7NosLxkw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've prefaced with this, but my experience with music is limited to three years of piano instruction, and then every subsequent year has been me playing a keyboard and only doing songs I enjoy. I'm very bad at reading sheet music. Part of the inspiration for this work is that I've been doing a Ravel piece from the Mother Goose Suite - it's The Fairy Garden. Wonderful piece, but when you've cheated your way through music classes via youtube tutorials, playing by ear, and having friends come and show you how to play the songs, it becomes a lot more difficult! Maybe once I've got it down, I can share a video. Until then, atleast I can make Eggsy a responsible pianist who actually does his homework. The last thing - I'm not a composer. Everything I write in here is based on my experiences and knowledge of Classical music as well as the actual show it's based on, Nodame's Cantabile. There may be a few mistakes. I'll provide every song I use as an additional link. That's it! I'll stop talking!


	2. Le Piccadilly

The days following his meeting Eggsy, the neighbouring flat goes suspiciously silent. Harry doesn’t run into Eggsy in the hall, or on the stairs, and he doesn’t see Eggsy anywhere on campus. He’s not lucky enough to experience another impromptu performance even though he stays late every day and peeks into that near dilapidated practice room to check.

He studies Mendelssohn to distract himself, Symphony number four on repeat until his ears feel numb from it, but it’s near impossible to clear his mind of what he’d heard - talent as obvious and combustible as a match; talent that Harry couldn’t imagine wasted and unrecognized.

Merlin catches him in his thoughts during one of his quieter and more pensive daytime hours. Harry startles when the man barges into his office, determined and holding a steaming mug in his hand. Harry's heart is beating wildly and he holds his chest, almost missing the way that Merlin goes straight to the radio and smacks the power button.

“Mendelssohn.” Merlin says.

“Mendelssohn.” Harry responds tightly. He moves his papers from the middle to the edge of his desk so that when he sets his mug of tea (or  _strong_ coffee, by the smell of it) down it won’t stain any of them.

“There’s a student here named Eggsy.” Harry continues without preamble. He takes the cup from Merlin’s hand directly and takes a sip. It’s entirely too hot, and he ends up choking on it and spitting it back in his cup. “My _god_ , Merlin.”

“I didn’t expect you to drink it. You leave every other sodding cup on the desk.” Merlin responds before he points to the mug. Harry takes a quick look at it, turning it in his hold so that he can see it properly. There’s the print of a cat wearing glasses, and beneath it in some campy font are the words _Check Meowt._ Merlin’s obsession with mugs is honesty the most bewildering thing. It’s almost daft what he finds amusing. “Eggsy is Percival’s prodigy. I’m surprised you haven’t run into him before now. He’s a bloody wild one. No interest in improving his skills, but he’s a damn good pianist.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry says quietly, sipping from his cup again. It’s still quite hot, but now that he can’t feel the inside of his mouth he’s become bold enough to not give a fuck. “He seems to be well off already, so improvements would be situation specific, I’d assume.”

“Right. Percival wants him to duet, but he’s not taken kindly to the suggestion. There was only one piece he considered.”

“Which piece?” Harry asks.

“Mozart, two pianos.” Merlin tells him. “I wish I could understand it. Unfortunately, us violin types are much more sound-minded folk.”

“If I remember correctly, Merlin, we both attended the same course on Sonata Theory, so you must have some sort of working relationship with your pianist counterparts.” Harry reminds him softly. When Merlin snorts, he sets his cup down in the space he’d cleared for it and leans back in his seat. Mozart’s Sonata for Two Pianos. It’s not a piece he would choose for a person ignorant of dynamics or balance, but certainly a wonderful piece for partners that are familiar with each others’ musical habits. He can understand Percival’s struggle if Eggsy’s as wild a card as Merlin suggests. “I heard him play just the other night. He has a wonderful sense of sound.”

“Oh, I certainly agree.“ Merlin tells him. He sticks his hands in his trouser pockets and turns around. “If you’re free this evening, come join us for a drink.”

“No, I -”

“ _Harry,_ ” Merlin warns. “You’re not to grow old and senile on your own. Come with us. We can talk about that transfer James was telling me about.”

Oh _c_ _hrist_ , the bloody transfer.

“And how would James know about the transfer?” Harry asks, straightening in his seat. He hadn’t told anyone about it, and he’d picked up a _paper_ transfer for the conducting department the week before that he'd never even filled out. So the man’s been snooping again. “I’ll consider it. Send me the time and place, and if I can make it, I will.”

Merlin lets out a frustrated little grunt and then says, “Tonight, Harry. I’m expecting you.” He slaps the door frame on the way out and forgets to close the door. Harry just sighs into the otherwise quiet room and leans himself back down in his seat.

-

It’s both a blessing and a curse that Harry’s office is situated in the same part of the building as his classes, because while it significantly shortens his travel time between destinations, a lot of the time he’s just trapped between the disjointed sounds of practicing students until he’s free to go home.

It’s very rare that he hears something worth listening in on. Today, much like a few days ago, the echoes of a song he hasn’t heard in years, and hasn’t played in much longer than that, crawl under the door and force him out of his seat. It’s so sudden, and Harry gravitates towards the sound as if tugged by the strings of it’s melody. Once he’s in the hallway, he quietly closes his office door behind himself.

 _Why this today_? Harry thinks amusedly. _The boy must be happy. Lighthearted. Untroubled._

The piece is an homage to Erik Satie. _Le Piccadilly_ , meant for Cabaret alongside other jaunty rags of the time, and every bit the free and lively personality that Merlin had managed to build around Eggsy in the few sentences he’d spoken about him.

Eggsy plays too quickly, too loudly, and when he suddenly changes key and song, and Harry can hear the opening of a second Satie piece replacing the first, he understands Percival’s plight. This form of playing is strictly for oneself, ignorant of the composers wishes and instead completely intrinsic. It’s clearly not for any public consumption or analysis - but it sounds every bit as alive as the boy who's playing it, and there isn't a thing about it that Harry wouldn't applaud.

It’s been too long since Harry's had the opportunity to listen to such an ineffable display of liberation. To hear someone playing so freely and, perhaps unintentionally, putting their emotions on their sleeves in the process.

It reminds him of why he ever carried on playing in the first place.

He listens to the entire piece, head tilted back against his closed office door.

 

-

 

Eggsy's pieces: [Erik Satie - Le Piccadilly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sScd15eyoUU) | [Je Te Veux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FM9GgEsa8k4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I used to get sheet music and would totally disregard HOW the piece should be played (because I couldn't really read the sheet music, I had the pieces memorized before I went to class). The teacher would go absolutely barmy. Among other things, she'd say, 'slow down' or 'what does that small pp mean, Makayla?' or 'why did you just smack on the keys like that?' Anyway, the reason she was always harping on me about it was because the piece can actually sound different if you emphasize certain keys, or if you play it more quietly, or more loudly, or if you speed up or slow down. Musicians can interpret pieces and make their own changes when playing for themselves, but usually in a classroom or similar setting, you're expected to keep in mind the composers pitch, rhythm and dynamics (to a certain extent). Like any other art form, what sounds good or doesn't sound good can be really subjective, so an instructor or composer might make adjustments to get a different sound!


	3. La Campenella

Harry’s not sure how long he stands there like that.

It’s long enough for someone to say, “You alright?”

And for that someone to be Eggsy, he finds out soon after opening his eyes and leveling his gaze. His hand is still behind his back on his door handle, and he feels a bit disoriented

“Yes. Yes. Is something the matter?”

“Well no offense, but when someone _your_ age is standin’ there like that, yeah, I kind of get a bit worried.”

Harry blanches. He's not used to people taking a jab at his age, no matter who unintentional. It's not a subject he's keen to think too much about. 

“I never would’ve guessed you played piano.” Harry tells him, quickly changing the topic. Eggsy smiles and scuffs at something on the floor with his shoe, but his dimples are visible even when he's not looking Harry head on. The boy has a messenger bag wound over his shoulder and chest, and he adjusts it until it’s further from his neck and he can look back up at Harry without scratching himself on the strap. Harry notices that Eggsy's a lot shorter than he'd seemed, now that they're talking face to face and not just passing each other on the stairway.

“My mates tell me I don’t look like a pianist.” Eggsy says.

It’s not altogether untrue. Eggsy dresses quite casually for a higher level music student. Atleast, it’s not something that Harry’s used to. If he had to describe it, Eggsy’s style is certainly one of a boy who couldn't give a toss about other people’s opinions. But Eggsy’s choice of dress has little bearing on his talent, obviously, and that’s not the reason why Harry had assumed Eggsy didn’t belong to the conservatoire.

“It’s not the look,” Harry clarifies immediately. “It’s the fact that I never hear you playing.”

Eggsy sighs and nods his head in the direction of the practice rooms behind him. He smiles shortly thereafter, so Harry has to assume that the huffing and puffing are for show. “Never heard you play neither.”

Harry thinks that’s a lie, since he’s not shy about playing when he’s at home (or in his office, for that matter). He still humors the conversation by saying, “Well that’s certainly unfair.”

He pushes the handle down on his office door and backs into it, stepping aside with the assumption that Eggsy will follow him in. The boy considers it for a second, and then steps into Harry’s office and finds himself a place to sit.

“Any requests?”

Eggsy wiggles his nose and removes his messenger bag. “Nah. Anything's alright. You pick.”

Harry tugs his bench from beneath his piano. His office is made all the smaller because of it, but he couldn’t imagine teaching piano and _not_ having a place for himself or his students to play. Harry's spent his entire life familiarizing himself with the stiff and uncomfortable setup of the piano bench. He sits up straight on it and places his foot over the pedal, shifting until he’s in a good position.

There’s always a possibility that Eggsy won’t be familiar with the piece he chooses, but an opportunity to educate is an opportunity to learn, and so he poises his hands above the keys and then takes a breath.

He starts softly, barely brushing the blacks and whites of the keys as his fingers dance over them, and suddenly there are bells in the room with them. A man among him and Eggsy, with one in either hand, moving them from side to side until the tell-tale resonation is vibrating through the room. These bells, Harry thinks as his hands bounce from key to key, are different sizes, each creating an independent expression but ringing all the same.

Then there’s the more insistent and confident commotion of additional bells, and small instruments to rouse whoever will listen. With each pass of his fingers, the music accelerates, until Harry’s chest jogs and his head shakes, and the notes become tumultuous, crashing between one another but never truly colliding. His fingers bounce quickly between stretches of keys, and then trill their way through a cohesive, almost thunderous crescendo.

And the entire time, Harry’s brain is purring with the precision of each and every note. The detailed and engrossing speed with which he has to play it. It would captivate anyone, honestly, but he’s not just playing for anyone. He’s got a very specific audience in mind.

So he loses himself in a piece that he's heard so many times, and has played so many more. He hears his own music confining them to this room, and he goes so rapidly from key to key that his hair falls loose against his forehead, shaking with the effort of the rest of his body in an attempt to finish  _strong,_ which he reaches for almost blindly. 

The wood and plastic is still vibrating beneath his fingertips long after he’s hammered in the last chord. His heart is racing, but he’s still and quiet on his bench until Eggsy calls out to him.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Harry gives himself just a moment. Then he collects himself, sighs, and stands up. He pushes the bench neatly back under the piano. When he looks at Eggsy, the boy’s sitting on the edge of his seat with his hands gripped tightly to its edges.

“Liszt.”

“I know the piece,” Eggsy crows animatedly. "How did you...?" 

“If you learn it in pieces, it’s much easier to manage." Harry says easily, as if he hadn't dedicated a year to learning it.

Eggsy just stares at him like he’s gone mad. Then, almost too suddenly, he jumps up out of his seat and says, “ _H_ _oly shit_. I have to - 'm leaving.”

"Wh - Eggsy..."

Harry’s not sure if the boy is rude or has exceptionally liberal views of what constitutes a courteous departure. Eggsy certainly smiles often enough to imply that he knows about social etiquette, but when he stumbles to the exit, adjusting his bag over his shoulder along the way, and then leaves with nothing but a soft, 'I'll see you round', Harry's not so sure. He's just left gaping after the empty doorway with the sound of the boy's winged Adidas shoes echoing in the hall. 

 

-

 

Harry's Piece: [Liszt | La Campenella](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpfbDLFSZb4) | [2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-czNkyPQDA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added an official version of La Campenella as well as a live performance. I imagine Harry plays quite like Alice, composed but very clearly passionate, which is why I included her version! :3


	4. Sonata In B Minor

The pub that Merlin invites him to is the same small place they’ve been meeting at since their young adulthood. It’s called _The Black Prince_ and it’s small and inexpensive, relatively close to the conservatoire. Merlin appreciates the free drinks he gets from the inebriated locals, and Harry prefers the company of the bartender, whose experience with instruments makes him better company than most.

Harry’s barely made it through the pub doors when Percival calls indignantly, “Harry, what the _fuck_ have you done to my student?”

Merlin and James are both at the table with him, but they’re hunched together over a newspaper clipping that he can’t see from the doorway. When they hear Harry’s name, they both look up - James with a large grin on his face and Merlin with a curious raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh, look what the cat drug in!” James coos happily, and Merlin reaches over to thump him in the chest with the back of his hand. Harry will admit to having avoided these meetings as of late, but he hardly deserves James’ shock and awe since they still see each other at the school. He ignores the man and heads straight for the table, where Merlin has picked up the newspaper clipping and is holding it out for him.

“There’s a new conductor coming to visit.”

The conductor’s name is Franz Von Stresemann, and the paper that Harry snatches from Merlin’s hand is his biography alongside a short article concerning his arrival. Harry reads through it quickly before peering over it to look at Merlin.

“It doesn’t say why he’s here.” Harry says. “Is he instructing?”

“That’s what we were trying to figure out.” James grunts, reaching around Merlin to snag Percival’s glass. When Percival quite audibly objects and yanks it back from him, spilling beer all over the tabletop, James sticks his tongue out.

“James, I will _rip_ your tongue out.” Percival warns.

“Alright children.” Merlin admonishes, scooching his own cup beneath James’ nose to pacify him, and then kicking the seat beside him out from under the table so that Harry can take it.

“I hear Stresemann is a bit of a maverick.” Percival says. He’s hunched over, guarding his drink, and he looks deadly serious when he carries on, “If he’s here putting together an orchestra, it might be good news for the school. Atleast, for the students who’ll be looking for positions following graduation.”

“Aye,” Merlin says, “and if he’s teaching conducting, it’ll open more space in the programme, which is always good for potential students.”

Harry considers the paper a second time. The name Stresemann isn’t familiar, but the man’s accolades are impressive enough to give him pause. It would be a considerable advantage to have that level of experience and accomplishment around the conservatoire and Merlin’s right, it would certainly reflect well on the institute. The man's presence is probably a good thing - but Harry feels uneasy nonetheless. He fiddles with the paper until Percival sighs and scoots his drink in the man’s direction. It gives Harry something to do, which he’s grateful for, but it also calls attention to the fact that he doesn’t have much to say about the situation, which means that naturally, James files in with small talk.

“Are you still planning on transferring to conducting?”

Jesus christ.

Harry feels like the sacrificial lamb at the family dinner. Everyone’s eyes are on him and he doesn’t _want_ to answer, but he’s been asked the question directly and now he can’t think of how not to. There isn’t a chance in hell he’d ever be as forthcoming about how badly he wants to take up conducting, and so he settles for a lighter version of the truth.

“I’m considering it.”

“I think you’d do wonderful Harry. You're a superb musician,” Percival butts in. He looks a bit shy as he says it, and before Harry can thank him, he says, “Which reminds me. Do you have time next week?”

“I’m sure it could be arranged.” Harry says.

“I have a student who wants to work with you. I’m sure you know _exactly_ who I’m talking about, and I’ve not the slightest fucking clue what you did to get him to agree to this, but there it is.”

So Eggsy hadn't walked away unscathed, which is nice to know. 

Merlin rubs his cheek and laughs quietly while Harry imagines playing with a boy like Eggsy. It would be messy, and he’d probably be frustrated. He’d probably want to choke the boy a few times before they managed to get it right, and now that he thinks about it, the lack of attention to the sheet music itself might create a serious problem.

But what he wouldn’t pay to hear them once they got it right.

Percival tells him that he doesn't have to answer right away, and then politely changes topic, after which the conversation quickly derails into a gaggle of middle aged music instructors yelling about their talented students that are exhausted by schoolwork. At some point, Harry gets dragged into a debate about how best to approach the recapitulation of Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor and he realizes that this isn’t something he should go into sober. Hell, the pub isn’t somewhere he should have _come into_ sober, but he’d made a mistake with that one, and so it would be foolish to make the same mistake again.

He escapes to the bar so that he can order himself something strong, and then he takes himself back to the table to enjoy the rest of his evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There won't be an update tonight, but will update each day again starting 10-18 (with the exception of weekends). Teacher duties call, I'm afraid!


	5. Rhapsody in Blue

Following their second meeting, Eggsy just... inserts himself into Harry’s life. It’s subtle, and happens over the course of two weeks.

With the stress of the new conductor and the distraction it brings to almost every one of his students, Harry spends that first week in total chaos. When evening of the first night finds him, he’s visibly harassed, taking himself home and collapsing on his couch, coat and clothing still on. It’s not nearly as embarrassing to wake up in the morning fully dressed when he’s the only one to witness it.

The second night is just as aggravating, and then again the third. He doesn’t meet Stresemann any of those days, but he hears stories from excited students who refuse to play their pieces through without their emotions getting in the way. The sheet music is in shambles, the students are unapologetically talkative, and they seem to be dismissing the importance of his (shortly) upcoming exam. Nobody would fault him for being frustrated with them, but he can’t bring himself to punish them for their excitement, and so he just soaks up his irritation until it’s poisoning his blood stream and flustering him.

It’s at close to the end of the week that he bumps into Eggsy, and he doesn’t notice the boy at all because he’s too busy dragging his feet and scowling at the ground. It’s excusable, he reckons, because he’s spent all day listening to the opening notes of Rhapsody in Blue on a melodica (completely incorrectly, mind you), and he can’t get it out of his fucking head.

“Hallo, Harry!”

“ _O_ _h_ \- christ.” Harry yelps, jumping and nearly losing his grip on his handbag. When he turns to face Eggsy, the boy is smirking and leaning casually against his door in a polo, a pair of jeans, and a set of large, pink bunny slippers. “Eggsy. I didn’t see you. I’m sorry.”

“Nah. It’s alright.” Eggsy says, waving it off. “You’ve been playing really loud opera since yesterday and it’s doin’ my head in, so I thought to come check on you, see that you’re okay and all. You wasn't home so...”

“I’m fine. Thank you.” Harry cuts in. He fishes around in his pocket for his key, suddenly embarrassed by his earlier alarm, and then again by his ridiculous behaviour. Eggsy laughs and pushes himself up off of his door.

“Are you hungry? I made some extra food if you want some.”

Harry can’t find his keys. He pauses with his hand in his pocket and thinks about it. He hasn’t eaten a proper meal in ages, and god knows if he gets into his flat he’ll just take himself to bed and worry about physical sustenance in the morning. He _should_ take the offer and eat something.

“Perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Harry admits.

“Sorry about the mess. JB’s a shit roommate.” Eggsy says sheepishly, with only a moment's hesitation before pushing open his door and then filing into his place. Harry follows him cautiously. 

It’s a disorganized space. Harry can’t see the floor for all of the clothes and dog toys that are loitered on it. There are books stacked on a coffee table in the small sitting room, and the television is covered by a throw blanket with an imprint from some children’s programme on it. He thinks he might be able to recognize a Yamaha pushed up into the corner, but it’s hidden under piles of sweaters and newspapers, stuffed toys and boxes of unopened electronics. There’s also something sniffing at  the bottom of his trousers. It's a dog. A little thing, which is a bit shocking considering all the noise he usually hears it make.

“Food’s this way.” Eggsy says, tugging Harry after him and whistling for JB to follow.

Harry is cautious when he walks to prevent breaking anything, and his voyage is made all the more difficult by the puppy winding himself through Harry’s legs as he steps, but he makes it to the kitchen unharmed.

“Did you hear about the new conductor?” Eggsy asks him quietly. “Stresemann, I think.”

“Yes, I… I… Eggsy, what is that?”

Harry’s heart jumps in his throat when he looks at the bowl of food on the counter. It’s little more than a pile of charcoal.

“Mmm. Dunno.” He shrugs, picking up an empty packet from the counter and flipping it to the back. “Looks like garlic potatoes.” He smiles mischievously at Harry and then adds, “I was gonna cook some salmon with it, but couldn’t get out to get it, so there’s chicken here” before gesturing over his shoulder.

Harry peers around Eggsy to see where the chicken is and finds what amounts to dog food on a blue and grey striped plate.

“Have you…? Do you…?” Harry starts twice. JB nips at his ankle and he reaches down to pick the dog up so that he’ll stop. The food he's being offered is distracting enough, he doesn't need dog saliva all over his trousers, too. “Eggsy, do you cook often?”

“Yeah, when I can. I know it’s a bit overcooked, but it’s still good.”

 _A bit overcooked_ , Harry thinks wryly. There is absolutely no argument for the food being just a 'bit' overcooked. It is completely burnt. He’s almost positive it would make a man sick, and he’s shocked that Eggsy’s managed without another person in the house. He responds as plainly as he can, “Eggsy, that's burnt. I'm not sure it's edible anymore." And then with a breath of hesitation, he adds, "Would you mind if perhaps I cooked us something a _little_ different?”

“What’s wrong with this?” Eggsy laughs, nudging the bowl back on the counter. The ceramic grates against the fake wood and JB yips at them. “It ain’t gonna kill you.”

“I’d rather not test it, if you don’t mind. I have examinations to give next week."

Eggsy rolls his eyes, but he fixes Harry with that devastating smile all the same. "So I take it you can cook?"

It's not that Harry can cook, per se. It's that he's a right foot better at it than Eggsy is. JB's fat little body is wiggling in his hold and so he offers the dog to it's owner, removing his jacket right after and saying, "I can cook well enough. Where should I put my coat?" 

It's every day after that, when Harry realizes that he's begun taking himself home to cook enough for two, that he bases observation on. Two weeks with minimal effort and only a burnt bowl of potatoes as a catalyst. Very subtle indeed. 

 

-

 

Anonymous' Piece: [Rhapsody In Blue (End)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgqFvbLKsDk)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhapsody in Blue is one of the more well-known classical pieces, I think - but ever since watching that drama years ago, I've loved it. So cute! AHHH, can you tell I can't wait for Harry and Eggsy to fall in love. I'm such a sucker. >:)
> 
> UPDATE: I won't be uploading anything on 10-19 / class starts tomorrow and I'll be busy this evening neatening things up!
> 
> UPDATE #2: I'm sick. I spent the night at someone's house last night and apparently picked something up, so I'll update soon.


	6. Sonata For Two Pianos

It’s during the second week that Harry joins Eggsy and Percival for their class which, he humorously discovers, is just the two of them. Their room is as secluded and out of the way as any room Harry’s ever seen the conservatoire provide, and he spends an indecent amount of time searching out the number Percival had given him carved into the brass plating above the door.

When he lets himself in, Eggsy’s already sitting at a piano with his forehead on the keys, pressing middle B over and over again in what seems to be a fit of boredom. Percival is sitting on an observation chair behind him, one leg folded over the other as he scribbles away onto a notepad.

“Welcome, Harry.” Percival says. He doesn’t look up from his writing immediately, and it gives Eggsy enough time to notice that the two of them aren’t alone anymore. He pops up in his seat with a smile on his face.

“Harry!”

“Eggsy. Percival.” Harry says. He smiles softly at Eggsy and then nods his head at the empty piano beside the boy. “I take it this is mine?”

Despite it’s size, there are only two pianos in the entire room. The empty one is quite obviously his, more than likely Percival’s otherwise. Eggsy starts shivering happily in his seat, scooting back on his bench and licking his lips, so obviously excited that Percival reaches out and holds down on his shoulder to keep him still. “My god, Eggsy. If I’d known you’d be so excited, I would’ve invited him months ago.”

“Did you practice?” Eggsy asks mischievously, completely ignoring Percival as Harry props his briefcase up against the man’s chair and then shrugs out of his coat. Percival had dropped the sheet music into his mailbox to remind him of his implicit agreement to duet, but it’s been years since Harry’s needed sheet music for many of Mozart’s pieces, and so he he'd used the paper as a coaster for his coffee - confident that he could play this piece almost _perfectly_  with his eyes closed and his ears plugged up. 

“Did _you_ practice?” Percival butts in tartly, smacking at Eggsy’s shoulder.

“He hasn’t practiced?” Harry asks curiously.

“I haven’t seen it.” Percival admits. “Though I hardly ever catch him practicing and he seems to get on alright.”

Harry smiles at that. He’s familiar with Eggsy’s practicing habits: after hours, locked away in the ugliest and most abandoned classrooms, playing when he thinks nobody can hear so that he can get away with doing whatever he wants.  

Harry’s in a cardigan, the sleeves of which he quickly rolls up to his forearms before going over to take his seat on the empty bench beside Eggsy. He chances a look over at the young man and finds him with his eyes wide and excited, teeth bared with how hard he’s smiling.

“Alright you two.” Percival says from behind them. “Let’s keep it clean.”

“I couldn’t imagine it otherwise.” Harry says, laying his foot over the peddle beneath his piano, and then poising his hands over the keys. He gives Eggsy one more fleeting look before taking a deep breath and plunging in.

They start together. Eggsy’s and his fingers bounce in tandem, notes ringing out simultaneously and Harry thinks, for the seconds of harmony between their opening notes and the remaining exposition, that Eggsy’s not nearly as liberal in his playing as Harry’d earlier observed. For just a moment, Eggsy produces the textbook piece that Harry’s heard for years. He’s purposeful, detailed, precise. The very same as Harry with his eyes on a sheet of music, completely aware of the piece’s _dynamics_ , but ignorant of the _emotion._

When Harry was younger and more determined to impress, he’d have done anything if he knew what he was playing, never thinking of why he was playing. Every piece would sound just like this.

But to Harry’s relief, Eggsy does start to slip, and it’s almost as subtle as his waltz into Harry’s life. The man barely notices it’s happening. Then, all at once he wants nothing more than to match the boy and play _con spirito,_ because that sort of playing is what Eggsy does so naturally. It gives Harry shivers.

To hear the tempo shift arouses his attention. The speed gives Harry something to chase. Eggsy’s execution is alive - he bounces from note to note almost playfully, smiling down at his keys as if he thinks Harry doesn’t notice. It’s simple to adjust to him, Harry thinks bemusedly, but not for any forthcoming reason.

And Harry doesn’t really question why he’s so attuned to Eggsy’s maneuvers. Why he latches on so easily and follows when he should be a step ahead. Why he’s smiling down at his own keys and burning fingers, and then stepping between Eggsy’s sounds as if they’ve spent months practicing the piece, when really he’s trailing the smoke of someone else's well used instrument to try and keep it cohesive. 

They play through the first movement together with Eggsy toeing the lines of musical etiquette to see if Harry can keep up. Each time Harry lets Eggsy lead where he shouldn’t be leading, follows where he shouldn’t be following, until they’re strongly hammering in Mozart’s final notes together - Eggsy pressing down wildly while Harry more delicately ties them closed.

And then there’s silence.

The vibrations shake off of their strings and into an audience of one, who clears his throat and says, “God damnit _,_ Eggsy. If I hadn’t enjoyed that, I would fucking kill you."

The boy isn't at all apologetic. This much is obvious when he tilts his head back and laughs boisterously and Harry, as he’s _quickly_ learning he’s wont to do when Eggsy’s involved, follows.

 

-

 

Eggsy / Harry's Piece: [Sonata For Two Pianos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tT9gT5bqi6Y) | [2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3W2ChSmekg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet is still sheisty. I'm sorry! It's a very hasty upload - any mistakes are my own because I didn't want to keep Red up and waiting for me. I'll come and correct for mistakes tomorrow (I'll also try to keep updating daily - but that's a bit of a dream at this point! So please expect atleast once every few days). I've included the link to the Sonata for Two Pianos as well as the drama version that actually inspired this piece (It's the first duet the main characters have with each other).


	7. L'Arlesienne Suite No. 2: Farandole

Though the duet was all good and well in recharging Harry's musical attraction, he spends the following days cooped up in his lair, meeting with students whose panic about their post-graduation prospects have finally yanked them kicking and screaming to his office - and it drags him right back down to hell.

It's a bit depressing, but he puts on Bizet in the background and makes sure it’s low enough to be peripheral to their conferencing. It works for the dull moments when the students just sit there and sob, realizing quite quickly that getting a job in an orchestra isn’t as simple as graduating with a degree in a music-related field.

“Mr. Hart - I’m sure I can find a position after I leave, I’m just not sure I _want_ to.” One of his students, Amelia, tells him quietly. She’s sitting across from him at his desk, fiddling with a small, solar powered violin toy that Merlin bought him ages ago and he’d honestly forgotten was there. He watches her politely with his elbows on the desk and his hands folded under his chin. “It’s… my parents are quite proud of me, you know.”

“You’re a very good pianist.” Harry reminds her.

Amelia hangs her head and breathes out deeply, fingertips still poking at the toy. She looks slightly crestfallen when she admits, “I want to be good at other things, too.”

Harry gives all of his students the same advice - their talents are only a part of their success, and their desire to do something with those talents accounts for a lot more. Unfortunately there is a good deal of connection and timing and luck that go into getting employed, but for the sake of comfort he avoids mentioning it because he sympathizes with them, and remembers quite vividly the panic he’d felt when he looked up and found himself at the fork in the road. By the end of the day he's struggling to support their worries in a way that actually helps them at all, and instead drags himself down to Merlin’s office for consolation.

The halls are near empty as he goes. The only sounds he hears are the occasional instrument and the clicking of shoes on stone as students run past him cradling their sheet music. He doesn’t recognize any of them except for one, and he’s almost shocked to run into that familiar face so far away from his own office, right outside of the doors to the strings department.

“Eggsy,” He says, doing nothing to mask his confusion as he approaches him. He hasn’t seen the boy on campus since their duet (though he admittedly runs into him every evening when they’re both hungry and Harry’s willing to cook). “Why on earth are you down here?”

“Ehm.” Eggsy says, distracted. He likely has a valid reason for visiting, but Harry’s curiosity is piqued all the same, furthermore when he looks over the boy’s shoulder and sees the office packed to bursting by other students, too. Eggsy sighs and quickly reaches into the front pocket of his hideous yellow and black hoodie, yanking out a crumpled piece of paper. “I found this in my bag this morning. It’s an invitation for an orchestra that’s forming here. Thought I’d check it out.”

“An orchestra?” Harry asks, squinting down at the paper to decipher the illegible scrawl that’s on it. There are also coffee stains marring the already terrible handwriting. The entire thing is a mess. If it’s truly an invitation (and that’s _highly_ doubtful), it doesn’t look very legitimate. “I wasn’t aware there were any new orchestras forming here.”

“Me neither.” Eggsy says. He leans closer to Harry and points to a scribbled line at the bottom of the paper. “But It’s signed by Stresemann. I’m supposed to meet ‘im here, so...”

Harry scoffs down at the paper and then looks up at Eggsy as if waiting for him to clarify what he means by _Stresemann_. The likelihood that a musician as well practiced and known would provide such a sloppy and informal invitation already seems like a stretch - but to build and then conduct an orchestra without auditions or notification seems erroneous. When Eggsy doesn’t say anything else, Harry shakes his head and says, “I’d like to borrow this for a moment, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, It’s alright.” Eggsy says. “I’ll just wait here with the others."

The faux invitation explains the horde of students packed into the department. Harry folds the note securely in his fist and then maneuvers his way through the ones that are standing in bunches throughout the office space. It takes him twice as long to reach Merlin’s door, and by the time he gets there he’s overheard no less than three excited conversations about the opportunity to play with an established conductor.

Harry barely has the energy to knock before he lets himself into Merlin’s office. The man certainly isn’t expecting him, because the first thing Harry sees are his eyebrows raised to where his hairline would be if he weren’t bald as an egg, and his mouth falling open for just a second. Harry seldom visits Merlin’s office and so the man always makes a spectacle of his company, but this time Harry has been unquestionably rude and let himself into the office without waiting for permission, which is an absurd deviation of character. When Merlin pulls himself back together, he says, “Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Half of the school is outside of your office right now.” Harry says shortly, walking right to Merlin’s desk and slapping the paper down onto the oak. “Because apparently 'Stresemann' is building an orchestra.”

Merlin picks up the paper and reads it briefly, adjusting his glasses and squinting his eyes when he sees the print. After a second, he says, “Who wrote this? It’s a wonder anyone can read it, honestly.”

“Yes, well.” Harry says. “It’s legible enough for the students out there.”

“This can’t be an actual invitation.” Merlin argues. He hands it back over his desk to Harry, who takes it and folds it angrily. “It’s daft. The word ‘orchestra’ is spelled wrong.”

“Amongst other things. We have a problem, Merlin, because either someone is handing out false invitations, or this Stresemann is the most farcical composer that ever was, and I’ve yet to meet him. Is the man aware that pianists aren’t in orchestras?”

“Well they can be.” Merlin says quietly, and the more confidently, “But I agree, it’s not often, and it’s never this easy.”

Harry can’t stand to think of someone audacious enough to dangle a carrot this size in front of his students. It’s in part because he’s just spent an entire day talking them off of the metaphorical ledge, and he refuses to accept that anybody would be so cruel as to build up a joke at the expense of their anxiety. But another part of him believes it to be too ludicrous. A composer of that calibre eliminating auditions and notifications, and just informally inviting students to an orchestra that none of the instructors have heard anything about is absurd.   

“Right. So either way we’ve got a mess to clear up. Let’s go find out what’s going on.” Merlin says, standing up out of his seat and gesturing towards the door that Harry’s left open. Harry's not overly enthusiastic about going out there and figuring out the truth about the invitations, but he’s also unwilling to let Eggsy (or any other student, for that matter) belatedly find out that the entire thing is a hoax. When Merlin heads out into the department lobby, Harry follows closely behind with the note still cradled in his palm. 

 

-

 

Harry's office piece: [Bizet - L'Arlesienne Suite No. 2: Farandole](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2y09pD1r-Qs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to stick with (or under) the 1000 word updates. The next chapter will be a direct continuation, and I'll try and type it tonight so that it's up by tomorrow. I know it reads a bit like a 'filler' chapter. LOL. It's just that I'm at 1300 words, and I'm trying to stick to my guns here! :P As per always, I have to thank insanereddragon for dealing with me on this, because I know at times it can probably get a little dry - but I love her feedback, so I had to shoutout to her again. #teamred. Also, I've just decided that Merlin and Eggsy are going to duet together aswell, and I think Danse Macabre (Violin and Piano version) are perfect for them! What do you guys think??? For real - I think my minds eye imagining any of the Kingsmen playing instruments makes me wanna roll around. I just love instruments so much.


End file.
